Dragon Ball Insurrection
by TheOV
Summary: Dragon Ball Insurrection is a DBZ-compliant (up to the end of the Buu Saga) fanfiction which disregards DBS and GT. Inexplicably, Trunks' moody and angry behavior manifests in a search for the Dragon Balls. While Goten stretches his endurance to the end, what comes next is a trip into war, politics and quite literally a whole other world. Long live the Saiyan race.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable content is the property of Toei Animation, Toriyama, etc, etc. This is a profitless venture, simply artistic in nature, I claim no ownership nor property of anything within and seek no material gains. Not mine.

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Prologue

A city that was not beyond time and space might still find itself cut off from both, but remain capable of access to either. This was the life of the simultaneously young and ancient Supreme Kai of Time and her young friend. She knew he was approaching long before the doors opened, long even before her keen hearing told her he was crossing the city. There was very little left to worry her, with Demigra firmly defeated and the only known operator of a time machine at her side. Yet, when she turned to observe the lavender-haired man, some trepidation brewed inside of her. This was not a fear of the man who stopped a step short of her, but a fear for him.

"A new timeline has come into being," she whispered. "I have been observing it for some time. It takes a while for me to be able to trace them to their end after they form. The change has to work back to me." The Supreme Kai of Time spun in place and beckoned the Time Patroler closer. She gestured to the scroll opened on the table behind her but did not turn with him as he began to observe the unfolding events. "Sometimes, Trunks, new timelines can come naturally. The universe is imperfection that strives for perfection. There are natural temporal anomalies out there. I can find no evidence to say this is what happened here... but I also cannot find any sign that this was done by someone." Behind her, she could _hear_ her underling go rigid and knew he was coming to realize what he was seeing.

"What is this?" he asked. His voice echoed fear intense enough that sometimes, she could think he might remember something he should not. That was alright, even a Kai could feel some remorse, some regret. "I don't understand what's happening. This didn't happen!" She did not look at him again, instead focusing on the image playing out across the scroll. The version of Trunks she was looking at was younger than the man beside her, but in so many ways she saw her underling there.

"It has," she said, quietly. "Once before. A new timeline formed naturally off of the same one this did. Just like is happening now, a version of you struck out to gather Earth's dragon balls. He did the same thing this one is about to do, but..." Her sigh drew his attention back to her. "We had to end that timeline prematurely. It would have destroyed creation itself. All times."

"We?" The Supreme Kai of Time paused for several seconds at this question before answering. Should her will hold 'til the end of time, the man behind her would never know the lie.

"Never mind, Trunks. Your duty is to watch. This version of you is about to make a decision that could put everything in jeopardy. It's different this time, though," she turned back to the scroll and pointed. "Look who is coming to join him." Trunks tilted his head slightly and squinted. "I know, it means nothing to you, but to him, the other you? It will mean a world of difference. Hopefully, a whole universe of difference. I never want to have to do what we did in the other timeline again."

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 **Author's Note:** This is obviously an incredibly small prologue, so I'll be putting up the first chapter with it. It's being put up as a standalone prologue mostly so I can give a quick introduction to this piece. It is canon compliant until the end of the Buu saga. It will not be compliant with Super and it ignores and laughs in the face of GT. You can expect: Political themes, same-sex attraction, combat (hey, I _could_ possibly not screw it up,) themes relating to war and to poverty, a third-person limited view that may shift as necessary to tell aspects of the story I deem too important to leave off-screen and, of course, violence, plenty of that. This idea was born out of the musings of Vegeta's personality. We know that in a short time span the Saiyans went from (according to Vegeta) being enslaved by the Tuffles, to combat with a Super Saiyan God, to rule under Frieza and to its destruction, all in the span of King Vegeta's life. I started to theorize that the planet and the race were not exactly what Vegeta (a young, spoiled child when his world went up,) remembers.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable content is the property of Toei Animation, Toriyama, etc, etc. This is a profitless venture, simply artistic in nature, I claim no ownership nor property of anything within and seek no material gains. Not mine.

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Chapter One

Son Goten pulled to a stop in front of the man who claimed to have seen Trunks. Though he found himself distracted, worried, tired and, most of all, hungry, Goten attempted to maintain some semblance of manners. The man in front of him was tall and thin, his beard a dark black despite obvious advancing years. What was, perhaps, more curious than Trunks' behavior was the fact that as soon as Goten rose out of a bow to this man, a look of recognition crossed his dark face. The village elder rose from his position, sitting in mediation to look down on Goten from his impressive height.

According to everyone he knew Goten, at the age of sixteen, held very little hope to gain much in height. Still, he was not small enough to be accustomed to having to tilt his head so far up or to crane his neck so hard in an attempt to look at a man right in front of him. He waited for the stranger's explanation, the warm sun beating down on his face, causing him to squint slightly. The question bubbled up inside of him as he split his focus between this man and the power source moving farther and farther away from the desert.

"Goku," the wide-eyed man murmured, his accent unfamiliar to Goten's ears. "No, that would be quite impossible." Goten began to understand even as the man's eyes slowly returned to normal. "Do you know a man named Son Goku?"

"That's my dad," Goten answered, grinning as he stepped back to relieve some pressure in his neck. "I'm Son Goten. Do you know my father?"

"Oh," the man started, arms crossing across his chest. "Many years ago. Are you here about the boy who just passed through here?" Goten nodded eagerly. Curiosity about this man had to go unsatisfied, he wanted to know what was happening. "He came through here searching for an object I have only heard of once before, from your father: a Dragon Ball. I told him I could not help him, but he did not seem concerned, said he would just have to fix his radar." Goten sighed in response but quickly bowed once more to the man.

"Thank you, Mr..."

"Nam," the village elder replied, before slowly easing himself back into a sitting position. "If you are truly the son of Goku, then I would like to make you an offer." Goten paused halfway through turning away to face Nam again. "Many years ago when this entire village was near death, your father saved it. At the time, we had nothing to offer him but our gratitude. If you are Goku's son, I would guess that you are very much capable of eating." Nam tilted his head slightly. "This time, I would be able to repay the debt my village owes. Would you stay for the night?" Goten again bowed at the waist, his crooked smile greeting Nam when he rose, shaking his head.

"Well, I'm really worried about my friend," he told the stranger. "Thank you, though."

"Very well," the elder murmured. "If you come back through you and your friend will be honored guests for a feast. In the mean time, I wish you the best of luck with your search. I believe you will find the boy you are looking for up river where the desert begins to give way to mountains." Goten turned and hurried from the elder's presence with a loud giving of thanks and then paused. Nam had been right about one thing, he was _starving._ It had been well over a day since he began chasing Trunks and he found that even his considerable stamina was weakening.

 _I think I should save my energy._

Goten opened his mouth and called out, "Nimbus!" Surrounded by the village's children whom had all come to see the visitors to the village, Nam felt a tired smile come to his face as, several seconds later, Goten lept high into the air to intercept the coming cloud. As Goten left the village behind, Nam the village elder felt quite young again, indeed. For Goten, of course, this was just the beginning of perhaps the greatest adventure of his life, or perhaps the final. Either way, Nam would quietly lament when Goten did not return, for even the most comfortable of us sometimes yearn for the familiar embrace of the past.

Goten would learn that lesson in time.

The cloud beneath him felt, oddly, more stable than usual and more comfortable. It had already been several years since the last time he felt the need to ride on Nimbus but the thought of chasing Trunks over a long distance when he clearly didn't want to be followed was almost as tiring as the act itself. Goten wanted, at moments, to catch up to Trunks, seize him by the collar of his jacket and shake him, screaming for an explanation as to why he was on this now week-long chase. Goten may not have been the brightest crayon in the box (more of an olive green or a grey) but even he knew what Trunks was up to. The question was, why did Trunks of all people need the Dragon Balls?

Trunks's strange behavior had steadily grown more and more noticeable until it got to the point where violent arguments erupted between he and his father. Upon the destruction of a pair of cars parked somewhere in the vicinity of their neighborhood, Trunks had grown angry enough to leave, finding himself on Goten's floor that evening and sneaking out of the house at first light. Goten had not wasted a second feeling sleepy when the window opening woke him up, but instead followed without bothering to let anyone know where he was going. Now, seven days later, he floated along on Nimbus racing towards Trunks.

 _He's going to have to sleep some time, but so am I._ A crooked grin lit his face as another thought occurred, _but Nimbus won't._ As long as he allowed the Nimbus to continue a steady pace in the proper direction, Goten felt he could sleep in relative safety and make some ground up during the night. That was precisely what he did. In this way, for the first time since the trek began, he woke to find himself having gained ground. A day and a half without food meant that the Goten who sat up on Nimbus, rubbing at his eyes to clear the haze, felt both desperately weak and uncharacteristically grumpy. He didn't feel a need to dip below the cloud cover and scan for Trunks. The guy wasn't a massive fan of hiding his ki and Trunks' trail of spent ki was borderline tangible.

 _There's really only one way he's still flying,_ Goten thought as he stripped off the top of his damp gi, _but how did he get his hands on a senzu bean?_ Soaked from head to toe by more than one passage through a cloud, Goten brought the Nimbus down a bit, flying under the cloud level as his eyes closed. Instead of reaching out into the world and seeking Trunks by his ki, Goten allowed his own to stir into activity, spreading across his body and slowly seeping up into his skin. An onlooker would notice very little save for the subtle hint of water vapor wafting up as Goten warmed his body. Then again, there weren't bound to be many onlookers this high up.

Once his body was still and not shaking from the cold, Goten allowed himself to get a real look at the land beneath him. Mercifully, Trunks had continued his trek east, and the elder of the village was right: they had passed from the desert and were running parallel to a mountain range that looked to be utterly teeming with life, including plenty that could serve as breakfast. It was a testament to how worried Goten truly was that he did not break off pursuit and hunt. This was, after all, Trunks. There was no one else Goten was close to like Trunks, or for that matter, close to period. His mother was not always entirely happy about this, but Goten suspected the problem lay less in Trunks than in his father. Vegeta was always going on about the Saiyan race and its superiority to humanity and, despite having fought to save the Earth several times, always seemed to look down on everyone who was not family or Saiyan.

Goten, as often when he thought of Trunks' father, felt a twinge of anxiety. In his younger years, Goten was conflicted about Vegeta's words, about the concept of the inequality of the two halves inside of him. As he grew and learned the effect lessened but Vegeta remained a figure in his mind, especially as he and Trunks got older and Vegeta began to declare the lack of rivalry between them "a sign of the worst kind of weakness." Trunks had never really understood what the man was saying, but Goten did. In fact, if not for Vegeta's snide insult, Goten might have taken a far longer time to figure it out than he should have. There was no other way to put it: he loved Trunks. So Vegeta represented one of many walls in his way and one that he had to admit scared him.

Whatever the source of his connection with Trunks really was, it was strong enough that he was chasing the boy (though to Goten, neither he nor Trunks were 'boys' they were men) across the globe and doing a fair job at not being enraged that he was trailing Trunks and not working alongside him at whatever was motivating his friend. Goten, though hungry, was so focused on his flight that at first the voice simply didn't register. There was plenty to look at below and thoughts of the Briefs family's troubling Saiyans to distract him, after all. It was no surprise that his father's soft voice was almost drowned out in the onslaught. _**Goten,**_ he glanced around himself once before realizing with some embarrassment that the voice was coming from inside of his own mind. His father did this so rarely, it was sometimes disturbing when he did. _**Goten, it's your father. Listen, Bulma and your mother are really worried and so am I. I don't know what you two are up to but it's time to come home.**_

Goten shook his head, again forgetting exactly how he was communicating.

 _I can't,_ he thought back, focusing on the odd feeling of his father's ki at the base of his skull, _I can't. I don't know what Trunks is doing yet, I don't want to let him get hurt._ _I don't think he's okay._ Goten showed bits and pieces of his journey, pushing images through the same connection: _the volcano, the cavern, the ocean, the man from the village, Nimbus,_ and lastly, _the Dragon Balls._ Goku's voice came back a little more excited. As often happened, though, he seemed to miss the point of the message, the urgency, the possibility that Trunks was going to make some sort of wish that had him running this desperately from his best friend.

 _ **Was that, Nam? Did you meet Nam? I know where you are. I'm going to talk to your mother and Bulma. I don't think I can buy you any more than a day.**_

Goten did not answer, unaware that that promised day would bring more than he ever expected.

It was safe to say, though, that Goten did not know many things he would be coming to learn as the next few weeks passed. Over the next twelve hours the only thing of interest to occur was when Trunks seemed to stop for at least three himself. Goten wasn't entirely sure what caused this, but he chose to push Nimbus as hard as he could during that small bit of grace time, speeding along above a rapidly flattening landscape as they neared a massive forest. Goten was able to observe creatures that, even having lived in the countryside, he had never seen before. Whole species of reptilians and dinosaur species he had never seen before seemed to move in large, notable packs. Some species were more intelligent than others and he could see whole herds of some creatures that he wouldn't even consider touching even in his considerable need for food.

By the time that Goten managed to convince his mother to allow him to train with any of the other fighters in his strange extended family, he was already more powerful than the vast majority of them. That being said, one of the few things he might have been able to pick up, if not from Piccolo then maybe Tien would be the habit and ability of meditation. Unfortunately, he could never manage to sit still long enough to even approach a meditative state. Spending eight hours atop Nimbus wondering if it was fatigue or something else that slowed Trunks was enough to reignite his irritation with his friend. _If Nimbus can keep up with him, he's running himself down to nothing. I don't understand what is going on, I don't understand what he's doing!_

The half-Saiyan was pulled from his thoughts by _something_ he could not quite place. The morning had passed in a quiet, teeth-grinding irritation but there was nothing to explain the sudden feeling of unease that seized Goten as he rose higher and higher into the seemingly endless thick... black... clouds. The answer barely beat the sensation of a massive power rising to the east to the front of his mind. His head spun slightly as a flash of lightning slammed into the earth and began to take on an unnatural shade. By the time the energy ascended back into the air there was no question what he was witnessing. Goten leaped from the firm, tangible cloud and without hesitation forced his ki from his body with the force of a small explosion, eyes widening, heart hammering in his chest and his weakening reserves of energy pouring into atmosphere around him. The dragon forming from the energy of the balls Trunks had been collecting in secret for months worked as his beacon. Goten kept his eyes focused on Shenron and didn't question whether he was going to make it in time or not.

There, in the distance, he saw the glow of the gathered Dragon Balls themselves and, bolstered by his trip reaching a conclusion, Goten dipped below the treeline of the forest. Weaving in and out of the trees, Goten could finally hear Trunks' voice. He could make out very little of what Trunks was asking, though he could clearly hear Trunks speak his father's name and a rumbling retort from massive beast above him. Winded, Goten finally dropped from the air, catching himself on all fours behind Trunks, just in time to hear his wish.

"Then I want you to undo the damage from the explosion that destroyed Planet Vegeta!" The great dragon's throaty rumble announced a thought and then Goten watched its eyes flare red. He climbed to his feet and hurried to Trunks, who showed absolutely no surprise in response to being seized and spun around. The story was painted across his face like words on a book. Trunks was obsessed, angry and most plainly, hurt."I'm leaving, Goten." Goten's worst fears confirmed, he grasped the lavender-haired boy's arm tighter. "I said I'm leaving."

" **Your wish has been granted. Speak your final so that I may return to my slumber."**

"You're taking me with you." The words came out of his mouth without any intent. It took a moment for the next look to register on Trunks' face but his relief was mirrored in Goten himself. It felt promising that Trunks wasn't sending him away, wasn't denying him. "You're taking me with you or we're going back. That's all there is to it." Tensing up in reaction to the suggestion of going back, Trunks seemed to turn his back on Goten for just a moment. "Alright, alright, I'm coming with you."

"Send Goten and I to Planet Vegeta. Send us to the Saiyan race." Goten felt his throat close shut and a genuine shiver run up his spine. As the dragon began to speak, a noise and a burst of ki made Goten spin around. A rush of the dragon's energy surrounded him as he saw his father's face shift from confusion to outright concern. A twinge of grief took Goten's focus from Trunks and the dragon. He tried to give the man a reassuring smile but the world in front of him, including his father, vanished.

Trunks pulled Goten to his feet, which was a good thing since a foot slammed down into the cement his head had just been laying on. Dizzy, Goten steadied himself against his friend as Trunks and the stranger who had just nearly used his head as a welcome mat exchanged words that seemed none-too-friendly. Then he looked up and the world he left behind momentarily slid from his mind. He and Trunks stood side by side in the middle of a great city's center. A crowd of dazed people were stumbling to-and-fro. He could almost feel the tension of millions of lives burned back into existence, in a state of panic and disorientation. The people in front of him seemed to be looking for any familiar face, anything they could cling to. Trunks released the sleeve of his gi and took a second to make sure Goten was going to be able to stand before pulling him between a pair of buildings near the edge of the square. There had to be hundreds of Saiyans around them and they were starting to talk to one another. Trunks zipped his jacket up around him and leaned back against the wall of the building.

 _You didn't think this through, did you?_ Goten felt renewed concern flare up as the thought occurred and he realized he wasn't sure if it was aimed at Trunks or himself. The question probably could have been fairly asked of either of them but even as Goten stood beside his friend and watched the sides begin to form, he knew he made the right choice. This was _Trunks._ If things were going to get dangerous there was nowhere Goten would rather be. Still, he was made very aware how far from home he was as he watched the many tailed Saiyans beginning to seek out allies and friends and slowly he came to understand that lines were forming. If there was any doubt, then it vanished five minutes later when a man somewhere in the crowd called out, "The Defense Forces are coming! Someone find Oshar!" Goten did notice people dressed in armor similar to Vegeta's starting to emerge from the crowd and group up behind them, in front of a building across the square as if protecting it.

"What is this?" Trunks asked, turning to him to break their long silence. Part of what made their friendship successful was that they managed to keep their egos mostly in check around each other. Goten accepted that Trunks was generally stronger and quicker than he was and Trunks accepted that Goten was _nearly_ as book smart as his mother wanted, not to mention a bit more of a martial artist. "Can you tell what's going on here?"

"I think it's about to become a fight," he murmured in response, almost dumbfounded at the speed with which this dazed mob of wandering, frightened people organized into lines. "Or a riot. I don't think we want to be here." The statement sounded asinine the minute he made it. Where were they going to go? There was no safe place if a full-scale fight started. Actually, Goten was surprised the city was in such great shape: Saiyans were capable of energy manipulation and if every Saiyan (save for his father) he had ever heard of was any indication, they were quick to anger, quick to fight and slow to consider the risks of combat. In that case, how was this place still standing? Seconds stretched to a minute, then another, Goten stealing looks at Trunks to try to read his face as they both watched the crowd becoming more and more blatantly polarized. More of the uniformed soldiers began to appear but so too did people in other armor or in simple clothing. After several minutes had passed the man from before began to yell to others around him. Straining to hear, Goten joined Trunks in coming closer to the back of the throng of people now growing more and more loud and hurling what could only be obscenities at men now very clearly guarding a building across the way. (Though, Goten had to admit that he had no idea what some of these things being said meant. He wasn't sure he would ever be able to translate, "Find you in thealps!" without knowing what 'thealps' was.)

"Listen to me," the same man from moments ago called. Now, though, he was hovering several feet off of the ground, over the crowd and he was not speaking to the people on his side of this invisible line. He was talking to the people wearing armor. "Look at you, more than half of you are part of the lower class like all of us! You have given your life to serve King Vegeta's master and your children still live in poverty. They still barely eat, they still barely live while every beast on this planet is hunted to near extinction to feed the King and his select few. You're kept in that barracks right there, no windows, three floors underground to five floors above, living with strangers, training, under constant control and stress and you don't even get to see your families dying because _you haven't been selected for a battle yet._ You devote your life to a mysterious off-world ruler and you make money whenever his crony decides you get to go to war. Why would you want to give your lives up to defend that building?" If there was a reaction from the other side, Goten and Trunks couldn't see or hear it through the crowd of people blocking their view. The man continued speaking, though by now the gathered group was so numerous and loud that Goten and Trunks were not only clueless as to what was being said, but Goten was surprised to find they were no longer at the back of it. More and more people were joining and Goten gave up all hope of not seeing violence break out when he realized several of them were partially in the armor the 'Defense Forces' were wearing. Deserters joining the other side.

"Trunks," he called into his friend's ear, ready to demand they run. Those pale eyes just had time to lock with his own when the world around him, the crowd, even Trunks seemed to change, move strangely. A sharp pain shot through the side of his skull and he absentmindedly connected the turning of the world with the fact that something had just knocked him clean off of his feet. His gi was singed at the stomach as he looked down at himself, the skin angry and red. _Ki blast,_ he told himself. Goten called out to Trunks that he was alright (and he was) but when he looked up Trunks' golden ki blinded him as it emerged from his body in rushing waves of energy. _You idiot,_ Goten thought, pushing hard to his feet. _Scare them, Goten, scare them now!_ He was on the borderline of changing when he realized that the crowd was already scared. They were scattering, running from Trunks as if he was the specter of death. The crowd had cleared a corridor right to the line of guards, many of whom were screaming to one another or into devices in their hands. This crowd of fully grown Saiyans were looking upon Trunks and _fearing_ him in the way a prey animal naturally fears its predator. One of the guards, whose voice was hoarse as if from age, screamed in fear and dropped his weapon.

Instead of transforming himself he simply observed the scene unfolding in front of them as if in slow motion. The crowd was spreading apart and seemed to be running for either of the edges of the square that were previously unoccupied. The guards and the people who were just staring them down alike seemed to be more terrified of Trunks than Goten could remember ever being of anyone. It didn't help when he saw his friend bring his hands forward in a familiar gesture. "Trunks, NO!" The call didn't even seem to phase the half-Saiyan whose golden ki formed into a familiar beam. One of the skills Vegeta had taught Trunks long ago fired forth, with more force than speed and even so Goten knew there was nothing he could do. The square shook with the sheer force of the explosion and the sleek, metallic and windowless building shuddered above the point where the beam pierced clean through. A smaller, secondary explosion within the building was enough to force Goten to shelter his eyes. With a noise more violent than the attack used against it, the Defense Forces' barracks shook one more time and then collapsed downward upon itself, tilted slowly toward the city square. "Run," Goten began to scream, "run!" He called to the stragglers still in the square. He was, however, shouted over by another man entirely, one standing close enough to him that his voice was deafening.

"Fall back, men, fall back! Get to the safe houses! " Like Goten, he was safely out of the way of the building as it crumbled to the ground. Unlike Goten he did not even attempt to shield himself from the debris that came as a result of the crash. Goten pulled Trunks down to the ground-no easy feat-and covered his eyes as yet a third shock wave rolled over them. His face was thrown harder against the cement by the sheer force of the collapse. Goten expected the silence that followed would last forever. It did not. Before he had even gotten off of Trunks he heard the sounds of minor explosions, of energy weapons and, most of all, screaming. "Fall back to the safe houses! Find your commanding officers! The revolution has begun! King Vegeta is dead! Long live the Saiyan race! Long live the Saiyan race!" A hand seized him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him up, from Trunks. The same man who was barking orders as the building fell was dragging Goten and Trunks both back from a mob of people running toward and around them. Trunks didn't seem to be fighting it, which Goten got the feeling was a sign of his own awe at the moment. They had done and seen things no one their age back home could have imagined but this was not combat with some alien threat to Earth, this was a chaos in numbers they had never experienced."Good, boys. Good, run! We need to get out of here!" Debris, ostensibly from the shattered building made them stumble (it was impossible to see anything in the smoke and dust spreading throughout the city) but very little slowed them down.

 _Does he understand what just happened?_ Goten had plenty of questions of his own but one thing was very clear: Trunks was the spark to set off a war. Through the dust he sometimes saw outlines of people or maybe just of an arm, a leg, something disappearing into the hazy-gray darkness, a night that choked the city and, for that matter, the lungs. There were a lot of things that Goten and Trunks could do that human children couldn't but surviving without breath was not one of them. Trunks wheezed from him before the man ahead of them stopped and stumbled, their hands being pulled from his as Trunks jerked to a stop. Another flash of the golden ki of a Super Saiyan passed through the air, blowing and burning away particles of dust for several feet. Goten drew a deep breath that burned somewhat tinged with the ki of his best friend, who was similarly gasping for breath. Behind the grey-haired man who was just pulling them along, a group of seven or eight people in shattered armor were running in a shaky, loose formation from the site of the collapse, one of them trailing blood on the road. As quickly as this clarity came it passed as the dust poured in yet again and once more the stranger seized he and Trunks both by the arms and insisted they hurry. Whether minutes passed or hours from that point forward, Goten remained clueless. He simply focused his dwindling energy on continuing to breathe. The natural ki inside of his body took in the dust-laden air, burnt away most of the impurities and allowed him to keep going, though his lungs burned in protest. Roshi's lectures on'mastering your own body' had never served him better.

Finally, some time after they began to run, the man leading them into the city jerked them both suddenly and inexplicably sideways and the three fell. Even falling down them in a mix with two other people, Goten recognized a set of stairs when he felt them (with his face, his arms, his knees, just about everything but the bottom of his feet.) Cold, hard stone waited at the bottom to greet them with a fresh new pain. Goten climbed off of someone—he wasn't taking the time to figure out who—and pushed to his knees in time to hear a brief jolt of electricity from behind and above them. He had just enough time to find a flash of Trunks' blue-purple jacket and pull him up hard by the arm when someone in the room they had just unceremoniously crashed into spoke.

"Oshar, what in the name of ending have you brought upon us?"


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable content is the property of Toei Animation, Toriyama, etc, etc. This is a profitless venture, simply artistic in nature, I claim no ownership nor property of anything within and seek no material gains. Not mine.

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 _"Oshar, what in the name of ending have you brought upon us?"_

Goten just managed to make sure that he was close by Trunks's side as they both fought to catch their breath. Stealing quick glances at his friend told him about all that he needed to know. It wasn't necessarily a common look on the half-Saiyan's face but Trunks was trying hard to conceal fear and realization. Goten wondered, though, whether it was just the weight of toppling that building that pushed in on Trunks or the thought of igniting a war. _Does he regret bringing us here?_ Goten crushed the question and the implications it had that he was a victim of Trunks's choice. Finally, he dared to lift his head from his friend's face to the room at large. They were sitting at the foot of a stone staircase. Above, an opening into the streets glowed bright blue, singing with electricity but somehow not letting any of the ash through. The man who had dragged them down into this shelter stood tall enough to nearly touch the low-hanging stone ceiling with his head, while three others were crowded around him, looking askance at Goten and Trunks both.

"Don't forget," the man, Oshar, was saying to another whom Goten recognized as the Saiyan who tried to talk the Defense Force over to his side, "I was there. I saw it and I know what it looked like. This is not it. What this is though," Oshar turned his head back, looking at Trunks with some hunger. "Is this a Super Saiyan?" Trunks seemed to come back to life, pulled back from wherever his mind had been. He lifted his chin and smirked, looking mightily like his father. Goten wasn't inclined to wait for Trunks to speak but he also wasn't exactly kept waiting long. The other men seemed to focus on Trunks, but as he spoke Oshar turned instead and inspected Goten himself.

"That's right," Trunks confirmed, a prideful, boasting voice projecting into the room. Vegeta's voice, not Trunks's at all. "I'm a Super Saiyan. I'm not the only one either." Goten groaned. This sounded like he was trying to antagonize the people sneering at them both. He wiped ash and sweat from his face with the tattered remains of his gi, before tearing off a hunk of cloth that bore Master Roshi's mark and sliding it into his pants pocket. Still, while the others observed Trunks, Oshar watched him as if he was a cornered animal who might lash out. When Trunks said nothing, Oshar said nothing and the other Saiyans said nothing, Goten figured it was probably his turn. The gnawing pain of hunger brought his words out shakily.

"Look, we didn't mean to cause any trouble today. I wasn't paying attention to the guards and Trunks just lost his cool," so far these Saiyans had not all been clones of Vegeta, so perhaps there was plenty to reason with, after all. "We-"

"Cause any trouble?" Oshar replied, incredulously before bursting into laughter. Uncomfortable and vaguely irritated, Goten kept his eyes firmly focused on the man. "Fuck, where are you boys from? No one here cares about causing trouble for the Defense Force anymore. This war has been a long time coming." Goten looked at Trunks whose haughty defiance seemed deflated a bit and this time nodded to him to tell them.

"We're not from here," Trunks finally said, sounding a couple of years younger than he was in his insecurity. "We're half-Saiyan, raised off planet." That was a good way to put it. Goten didn't nod along supportively but did not speak up to offer any other response either. They were stuck on an alien planet, all alone. There was no Gohan, no father, no Vegeta, no one to show up to help them if they got in over their heads. "My name is-" Goten moved, jabbing his friend hard in the ribs, suddenly. _He really doesn't understand what just happened here if he was about to introduce himself._

"We're not telling you who we are until we're sure we can trust you," Goten said, speaking over an indignant grumble from his friend.

"How serendipitous," Oshar said, running a hand pensively down the length of a long beard. "I was just thinking the same thing. Have a seat," the man gestured to a bench consisting of a piece of wood laid over a pair of stone blocks. Trunks did not immediately move toward the bench and Goten felt no more inclined. This was no friendly offer to sit down and take a load off, they were going to be held there. "Come on, boys, it doesn't have to be a bad thing. It's going to be a while before the air clears enough to go up to the street. There probably won't be any more of us stopping off here. We could all sit down and get to know one another."

"I think I know who this one is," the man from the square said, dawning recognition on his face as he stared pointedly at Trunks. "Hair and eyes are a bit off, but that's not impossible to do. Look at his face, his eyes nose, jaw, the shape of his eyes, Oshar. Look at how he sneers at us low-class trash. We've captured ourselves royalty here, we're in the presence of Prince Vegeta." Goten would have chuckled at any other moment, he couldn't keep the smirk from his face. "What's so funny, boy?"

"You haven't captured anything," Trunks yelled over Goten's attempt at a diplomatic reply. "Do you honestly think you can take us?" Despite the angry outburst, the smile that followed was firmly Trunks's, he looked happy at the thought of the challenge and Goten had to say he wouldn't mind it under any other circumstance. "Just try it! Four of you against a pair of Super Saiyans." Again Goten groaned but while the man who was just talking showed a sign of irritation, Oshar simply stroked his beard and chuckled.

"You know, boy," Oshar said, turning to Trunks, "You could bear to pay a little bit of attention to your friend. He's smart. He knows what not to say and why not to say it, don't you, kid?" Goten leveled his best poker face on the suddenly taciturn man whose face bore his age in lines and scars. "Alright, alright, we don't need any trouble. Iskar, calm down." This time, as he was turning to the other man, Goten saw the family resemblance. _Brothers._ "The first thing I did when I came back to myself was contact the Rustere resistance. You know what I found?" While speaking, Oshar moved to the other side of the small room, leaning against the wall and surveying absolutely all of them. Perhaps this was a sign of decreasing hostility.

"They were gone. I finally got a message from Qir. He was on his death bed, so it was a rather heroic effort to contact us. Their revolution ended years ago. Planet Vegeta has been gone, all of us have been gone for almost a generation of his species. About thirty-eight of their years." Iskar looked very disturbed which impressively did little to abate the anger in his eyes. "Prince Vegeta was off-world when this happened. Apparently, everything is a matter of record now. King Vegeta attempted, at the last, to show a bit of a spine and Frieza killed him personally before he destroyed our world. Prince Vegeta would be a man nearing middle age, this boy isn't him." Goten breathed a sigh of relief. "But here's the thing, boys," Oshar stood straight and approached them. "Iskar and I were raised alongside King Vegeta when he was a Tuffle whipping boy," Oshar pointed firmly at Trunks. "You are of his line and you look far too much like him to convince me otherwise."

Goten and Trunks shared a look in silence. Oshar was, whatever else, not one to be easily fooled. Even having showed a surprising amount of patience, he did not seem like the kind of person one wanted to try to fool. Wrapped around his waist, the man's tail was twitching, aggressively. Perhaps they were in a more dangerous position than either of them thought. "Alright," Goten said when Trunks finally gave a nod of agreement. "We can give you some answers." Oshar relaxed. A moment ago the man looked like a cat ready to pounce and suddenly they could be friends having a conversation over dinner. "My name is Son Goten. When my father was an infant, he had an accident after landing on our planet. He forgot the training the pod gave him and forgot who he was. After a lot of time, another Saiyan came to the planet looking for him, apparently his brother." Goten chose his words carefully. "I'm not going to tell you any of their names," he admitted when Oshar raised an eyebrow at his pause. "Eventually, Vegeta came to the planet. He and my father became, _friends_ " Goten knew that was most likely true at its core, but they often had clashes.

"And my father is Vegeta," Trunks raised his chin again, eyes focused on Iskar. "But neither of us have anything to do with whatever your problem is with his dad and neither does Goten." The secret firmly out of the bag, Goten gave up any semblance of maintaining an air of mystery. The only upper hand they had now was that, physically, he believed they had the upper hand.

"And your fathers took your tails," Oshar muttered. "In other words, they chose lives of peace."

"Mostly," Goten admitted. "We're not really sure how it happened. No one will tell us, but this Frieza guy? We think they killed him."

"Your fathers chose to shield you from the hells of war? Perhaps Frieza taught Prince Vegeta a painful lesson."

"Or maybe they're just weak," Iskar interjected. "I bet I could handle the both of you right now, tailless half-breeds."

"That's enough," Oshar replied, dark eyes narrowing at his brother, whose deflation was immediate.

"It's alright, he reminds me a little of our friend Yamcha when he gets fired up," Trunks quipped, eliciting a smile from Goten.

"I don't know who this Yamcha is, but he sounds disappointing." Iskar's frustration seemed to be enough to seal the deal, Oshar returned to his position against the wall without attempting to seat them again. "You may be right. It is possible that even in closed quarters, with four of us, we could not handle you, if you are both, in fact, Super Saiyans but you're here and we're here and I don't think it's a coincidence."

"You're right," Trunks admitted, and then he looked toward Goten.

"Ah, you're learning to trust your friend's instincts, then, son of Vegeta." Goten ignored Oshar.

"Trunks used something very powerful to bring you all back." Then, before Goten knew it, he was hearing a little about what drove Trunks's odd behavior.

"We grew up hearing about the Saiyans, a great race of fighters, conquering the galaxy. My father's always talking about how strong they were, how weak the people on our planet are. He talked like I," Trunks choked, voice catching, "like we would never be as strong as we could be if we were pure Saiyans. I just..."

"You what, came to see these monsters of your father's stories? You're going to be disappointed, child." Iskar did not seem to like his brother's words, but Oshar spoke on. "Our people weren't the scourge of the galaxy traveling to far away planets to conquer and pillage, not really. We were slaves. That's all we've ever been, we break one shackle and another slips over our necks. We beat the Tuffles, and King Vegeta decides to become a tyrant, wipe them out, control the weak-minded and the scared. He commits genocide and used the poor and the hungry to do it. Then, before he's even done wiping the blood from his hands, in comes another tyrant who beats him into subservience and we're slaves to this deviant called Frieza." Oshar was no longer calm, his voice was tinged with passion, passion that was slowly slipping to rage. "Your father probably grew up listening to his father's propaganda as fact... and in turn passed it onto you both. You want to know what the Saiyan race is, go up there in a few hours and watch. We're not conquerors, we're slaves bouncing from one rebellion to another: Tuffles, Vegeta, Frieza, it doesn't matter. There's always a tyrant looking to use us." When Trunks didn't speak, Oshar roared.

"What? Do we _disappoint_ you?" Trunks tensed beside Goten. A tense buzzing sounded from a forcefield stretched across the entrance to the shelter they were hiding in. Goten didn't bother to see if someone was at it.

"Sir," Goten's heart was beating rapidly against his chest as he stepped forward, as if to block Oshar's glare from his friend. "You realize that you've just told us both everything we were ever told by his dad was a lie? Do you think we shouldn't feel anything about that?"

"I don't _give a damn_ what you feel," Oshar said, just as forcefully. "I care what you plan to do. What was your plan, boy?" He was looking past Goten to Trunks. "Show up, impress everyone, take your grandfather's throne and send us out to take over planets for you? Build an empire?"

"You shut your _mouth!_ You don't know a thing about him." The implication that Trunks wanted to use them to take over other planets made him angry, the implication that Trunks was anything like Vegeta, or even the late king was _offensive_. The warmth of his rising ki as it poured into his skin and out into the air around him only added to the approaching rage. "You don't know what he's done, Trunks has helped our fathers save our planet. He's saved lives, he's saved _my life._ He wouldn't hurt anyone for no reason."

"And do you always speak for 'Trunks' when someone challenges him? Does he have no tongue?" Oshar was still looking past Goten. It made no sense. He was doing the same thing to Goten he had done to Trunks, refusing to look at him when he talked to him. "What say you, Prince Trunks? Is your tongue cut out?" It might have been enough to push Goten over under any other circumstances but he did stop and turn back toward Trunks, eyes asking the very same question. _What are we doing here?_ Trunks, for his part, stayed quiet for several tense seconds, during which all they could hear was the steady hum of the forcefield above blocking the dust and debris.

"I wanted to come here and learn about the Saiyans and I... wanted..." Trunks looked away from Oshar and locked his eyes on Goten's. He felt his insides warm up again at the sight of genuine care on the prince's face. "I wanted to prove that it doesn't matter we're half-blooded."

"So you brought back what you thought was a race of blood-thirsty killers to prove your father wrong?" Oshar's terse question irked Goten.

"Yes," Trunks said, "Yes I did!"

"I have often wondered when my friend Vegeta forgot that kind of courage and chose to become a coward behind palace walls." This was not exactly what either Trunks or Goten were expecting. "It's good to know that it was still buried somewhere in his line." Oshar looked as if he was amused by the Earthlings and his two as of yet unnamed friends were relaxing finally. Iskar, hair peppered and not yet completely showing his age, seemed to not want to join them on that front. "Alright, 'Prince.' You stay out of the way of our fight and we stay out of your way. Better than that, we keep your secret."

Goten looked at Trunks, who seemed conflicted and then spoke while he thought.

"Is there anywhere safe we could go?"

"Safe?" Oshar shook his head, still smiling as if let in on some great joke. "Planet Vegeta may have been destroyed years ago but in a few hours it's going to explode. War, kids, have you ever really seen war?" Goten shook his head.

"We've seen worse." Oshar inclined his head as if in thought or mourning.

"I'll show you worse as soon as we can get out of here and then we'll part ways."

Though they were brought into the shelter under dubious circumstances, Trunks and Goten left it as free men. The force field across the entrance grew silent first and dark second and Trunks climbed to the top step alongside Oshar, Iskar and Goten following right behind. They emerged from a dirt, dark stone shelter below ground level into a city choked in what was far more ash than dust. Morning had come while they sat in their tense peace and with it came people cleaning up. Several were trying to use their ki to softly blast the dust into piles and away from their shops, houses. The city told Goten that Oshar was right: Vegeta was mistaken about the Saiyan race. "There may be a million rebels spread throughout Lure but right now there are just people trying to recover from last night. Look at them, boys." Goten did. Sure, most every member of the race that they met did seem to have a stronger connection to their ki than humans but there was no battle going. These people were not losing their minds in anger or rushing their enemies, perceived or otherwise. They were cleaning up.

Oshar and Iskar lead them through the city, out of the realm of ash and dust. Often eyes were drawn to them and sometimes Goten saw fear directed at Trunks. Usually, though, there was a respectful distance maintained that Goten did not quite understand. _Probably Oshar. He seems to be in charge around here._ Goten observed several children trailing them from a short way behind them and was reminded of the children of the village back on Earth, who had watched Trunks come and go and then come back to observe him. A slow, daring curiosity of strangers seemed to drive these Saiyan children to trail them through the streets of what he thought should usually be a very crowded massive city. "They're wondering why you don't have tails. Those children will have never seen a Tuffle, never seen a primate species without a tail."

"So they're all gone, these Tuffles?" Trunks's question seemed to catch Oshar off guard.

"Not completely," Oshar murmured in response. "I know two myself. Honestly, they can pass for one of us with very little effort: a false tail, a little manipulation of their energy. I like to pretend there are some grouped together somewhere, working to preserve their race. That feels like hopeful thinking most days. King Vegeta had the hungry and the desperate kill three billion people. There was a time in this city where you did not eat without turning in the head of a Tuffle." Goten wondered if that meant Oshar had gone along with it, too. "The people who had the courage to stand up for them were killed, starved to death or learned to steal. Fear is the most powerful tool a leader can levy against his people. The first generation of free Saiyans were angry, the second terrified and brainwashed and the third simply don't know any better. I lost 13 friends in a single raid on the royal food stores. Most of them were doing it for their children. We who fought the Tuffles to win our freedom remembered well what it was to starve. We knew how to tighten our belts."

"No one stopped him?"

"One man tried," Oshar said, quietly. "That's not true, lots of men tried but only one man surpassed the title of 'man' in his fight." The city began to grow more and more industrial as they walked, allowing them a lot more in the way of a straight path. It took only an hour of walking before the sheer weight of the past few days struck them. Goten had been, in silence, eating into his own reserves of ki to keep going. Uncharacteristically he had not even thought of how Trunks was still standing until he collapsed in the middle of the road. "What is it?"

"It's been days since we've eaten," Goten admitted. Trunks's eyes were closed when Goten pushed past Iskar to kneel beside him. He felt shaky just kneeling so he certainly understood how this might have happened to Trunks. The tech-mogul's son came to almost immediately and when he realized he was on the ground, his hand started to slide toward a bag tied to his belt. "We're going to be here a while, Trunks. It's better to save that." Goten knew what was inside the bag. However many were in there, there was no renewable crop of senzu beans in the vicinity. He leaned down and eased Trunks's arm over his shoulders. "We can keep going without it for a while," he murmured in his friend's ear.

"I think it's important you see what I'm going to show you," Oshar was saying as he glanced down at them. "Before we part ways, you need to understand the world you're a part of now." The elder brother looked at the younger while Goten and Trunks got back to their feet with an embarrassing amount of effort. "But maybe there is more than one side of the world you need to see and I know the place for it. I would ask if you could fly, but I don't imagine your bodies can handle much more effort." They paused for several seconds on the street, the gaggle of children following them getting closer than before as if finding more courage in their momentary collapse. After Trunks found himself capable of standing on his own, Goten turned to look at one of those kids. A small boy, close enough to be capable of touching Iskar on the leg, kept his eyes on Trunks as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of him. Goten wondered if the story of the Super Saiyan was making its rounds across the city. If so, it wouldn't be long before the Defense Forces came looking for Trunks for blowing that building down.

"Hi there," Goten said, smiling as he crouched down to the boy's level. At his mother's insistence, Goten had once spent a summer helping at a martial arts school for children. Though his job had been mostly in the realm of being demonstrated on and correcting stances he had learned to deal with the kids a little better than the sensei of the dojo ever had. "What's your name?"

"Fiss," the boy responded in a quiet enough voice as he clutched at something that looked to be a bottle of water. If he were a human, Goten would have to assume he was only about six or seven and in his current state he was either homeless or maybe had joined his friends in a jaunt through the ashy center of the city.

"I'm Goten," he told the boy. He nearly reached out to shake the kid's hand before he realized the gesture might mean nothing to him. Instead he offered another grin and pushed to his feet, watching the child run from them back to his friends.

"Let's go," Oshar didn't seem to begrudge them the rest but he definitely had some sort of timetable in mind. Everything he said lead Goten to believe the city was going to be a battle ground. Goten only hoped they were out of the city by then. There were going to be people hurt, there was no doubt and he wasn't sure there was anything he and Trunks could do in the shape they were in. _If a real war breaks out, is there anything we can do at all?_

As time passed, the roads began to grow more and more crowded, as one might assume they normally were. No one really talked to them or looked at them for too long, but then none of them really spoke to each other, either. The four of them backtracked into the city, though, toward the part of it that was still very ashen. The occasional vehicle passed by, a very sleek hovercar. A small, worn down building they must have passed on their way out seemed to be their destination, because Oshar walked in without any hesitation. While the outside was inconspicuous (and hard to describe since it, like everything else, was covered in ash) the inside was dark and looked deceptively large. Down a set of stairs into a circular room, Oshar strode with confidence until a couple emerged from behind a long counter.

"I thought I might find you here," Oshar said, amicably. "Mind hosting a private party for a while?" The pair exchanged a quick and, Goten supposed, meaningful glance with each other before greeting Oshar.

"Well then, you were right. War or no war, there will always be copious amounts of food here, go ahead and sit down."

"Trunks, Goten," Oshar said, as Iskar returned from locking the door they just walked by. "This is the couple I was speaking about earlier. The Tuffle survivors." If they were worried about being outed, the couple didn't show it. The man, who walked as if his leg had been damaged once upon a time, simply nodded his head once, a kind smile on his face and then disappeared into the back. "Ewa, these are a pair of friends of ours from off-world. Half-Saiyans, come to learn about their Saiyan halves."That was oversimplifying it, but then, how did one tell the whole truth? "They're also very, very hungry. If ever a time has come to call in a favor, I believe this is it."

"Very well," the woman replied, her face softer than a moment before. She still seemed to exceptionally quiet as she went about her business filling several glasses with something thick and dark. Neither footsteps nor glasses being sat on the table made much noise, but when she placed a glass down in front of Goten, she spoke. "Come in any time and we will feed you as best as we can. Call it a debt repayment. I don't imagine you will learn much about your people that will be pleasant in the coming days, but they do have quite a taste for beasts great and small cooked in any number of ways." Trunks thanked her and was the first to take a long drink from the glass. The first cough was instant and sounded painful. It was also embarrassing to watch as the liquid spread across the table from between his pressed lips. Iskar's response was a disdaining click of the tongue but Oshar and the Tuffle woman, Ewa, laughed. Patting him on the shoulder, Goten turned and took a sip himself. It might have looked like it but it tasted nothing like soda.

It tasted like Vegeta's beer, only it burned. The burn was strangely welcome on his empty stomach and Goten drew deeply.

"He may have the blood, but I have to say boy, you have the fortitude," Trunks, momentarily red in the face, didn't say anything. Goten wasn't sure what to say to either brother, so he turned to Trunks.

"We have a year, here, Trunks." This was something he had been meaning to bring up with his friend for a long time. He would have preferred to have the discussion in private but this seemed to be as private as they were going to get. Ewa pulled up a chair to the table and brought a glass herself. Goten welcomed her company, if not as much as he welcomed the smells that were beginning to sneak out of the back.

"What do you- oh, yeah."

"One year, then they could wish us back home... unless Dende..." Goten shook his head.

"He wouldn't," Trunks said. "Well, unless our mothers got to him."

"Don't suppose you want to let us in on what you're talking about?" Oshar asked, his glass rapidly emptying. Goten, in answer, raised his own and drained it to match. It was a silly sense of pride that motivated the action. Oshar had been entirely forthcoming with them but, despite the fact that Vegeta's take on his race ( _it's ours too, at least in part_ ) had been clearly exaggerated if not out-and-out wrong, Goten felt some disturbance at the idea of giving away anything about their home planet. "Very well, then. Listen, boys. Once Iskar and I leave you, my advice is to leave this city. I don't know where you should go, I don't know where you could go to be safe but one thing is for sure: this city will be bloody. This city will be the battleground. The Defense Forces will level it, they don't care as long as the palace remains defended."

"Why does that matter, if my grandfather is dead?" Goten didn't have the energy to sigh. There were many things to appreciate about Trunks, normally his straightforwardness might be one of them but since arriving in the city of Lure, Trunks had not been thinking straight. "Why does the palace matter?"

"Tarble," Goten replied, quietly. "Your father and uncle are both still alive as far as they know, off-world but alive."

"Correct, Vegeta and Tarble were both off-world when King Vegeta died. If they knew about you, you'd be one more reason. Vegeta and Tarble are theoretical heirs, you are an actual heir whole and living and in the capital city." Trunks grew quiet and took his second attempt at the liquid in his glass.

The relative peace of the (enormous) meal that followed was a stark and dark contrast to the days to come. Goten and Trunks didn't ask what the meat they were being fed was from and Ewa and her husband Pitra did not offer an answer. By the time they followed Oshar out of the restaurant, tracking more prints through ash and dust, Goten and Trunks were heady from the beer, full from enough food to feed a small village for several days and felt as if they could take on an army.

That damnable Saiyan pride.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable content is the property of Toei Animation, Toriyama, etc, etc. This is a profitless venture, simply artistic in nature, I claim no ownership nor property of anything within and seek no material gains. Not mine.

* * *

Chapter 3

As it turned out, what Oshar was so intent on showing them was a memorial. It was not a normal one and certainly not state sponsored. After leading them to a park at the edge of the city, the rebellious brothers dug up and pulled open a hatch buried in a seemingly innocuous patch of dirt. There was little risk to any of them from a simple fall, but Goten still used the ladder on his way down into what he was instantly aware was a sewer. After a short and unpleasant walk, they came to a stretch of sewer where, by the light of Oshar's ki-ball they witnessed a sign of what Oshar called "Vegeta's greatest crime." As Oshar recalled the days after victory over the Tuffle government, with the help of several Tuffle rebels who were sympathetic to their struggle, Goten for once paid him very indirect attention and simply read the graffiti across the wall while Trunks listened. Names were scrawled across every inch of the tunnel, names of Tuffle friends and comrades who King Vegeta had ordered killed. The walls bore various lamentations for these people and, Goten saw with some worry, confessions.

 _Mira was starving, I'm sorry, Kar,_ was written hastily in something that Goten thought resembled dried blood. Not far from it, _I've killed three and given the rations away. I don't deserve them but no children deserve that death,_ and, distressingly, _I've fed Tuffles with the blood of their parents still on my hands._

 _This is what we have become, slaughtering civilians who bare no guilt._

 _My neighbor killed thirteen of his own to protect my son. I cut his head from his body in front of his._

 _I took the children first. If something greater watches, they did not suffer._

 _My last meal was drowned in blood._

 _I'm taking someone with me when I go._

The confessions and names stretched out of sight into the distant darkness and Goten decided that finding out just how far this monument reached would not be a good idea. Even having just completed a meal, Goten felt sick to his stomach as he returned to hear Oshar end his story with a supposition that there could not be more than a hundred Tuffles from the city left alive. "The Defense Forces would not have allowed the rationing to stop until their duties were done. In those days the rebellion was a joke. If it weren't for-" Oshar stopped mid sentence and cleared his throat. Goten observed his face, observed a brief flash of outright guilt and then let it go.

Oshar and Iskar lead them back up to the surface and left them there, at the entrance without any significant sign of a goodbye. The thing was, by the time that they left, Goten had had many chances to read his friend's face and he knew very well what the two half-Saiyans were going to do. Whether Trunks had ignored the monument in exchange for Oshar's story or not, Goten wasn't sure but across every inch of his friend's face lay every emotion pouring through his own heart, making his body shake and his normally iron stomach weak. There was no smile on Trunks' face when his lips tightened and eyes narrowed but an ounce of his hardheaded determination was all Goten needed to see to place his hand on his friend's shoulder and speak both of their minds.

"Let's go talk to Ewa and Pitra," he said. In this way, Goten and Trunks became residents of Vegeta's capital city, Lure on the very same day the war began in earnest. It took several hours for Oshar to discover that they returned to the city and by that time the next morning's sun was rising. From him, they learned that the Defense Forces were in control of a fourth of the city in progressively well-defended perimeters set up centered around the palace. Combat, so far, was focused on obtaining control over key parts of the city outside of those boundaries. During the first day of fighting three main battles were fought resulting in the rebels capturing a water purification plant in the city and setting up some rudimentary defense. Unfortunately, the other two chosen battles had ended in the deaths of several hundred people.

"It's sad, yes," Oshar said, as Trunks's face shifted to a stony mask. "But the honest truth is that we only have so many blasters and while a direct energy blast would be stronger, it will drain a man far, far quicker than to channel it through a weapon. For warfare, endurance can sometimes make all of the difference and the Defense Forces hold several important strategic positions. All they need to do is tire us out. It has been decided to assess the damage to our forces, shore up defenses around our own lines and, then, to meet their forces at one of the outer military armories." That day was the last for several that they saw Oshar, who did not look as shaken by their losses as Trunks did or Goten felt.

Goten and Trunks, for their part, spent their time in the room above the restaurant where they were to lay low. This was important because, as Ewa said, all Saiyans hunger, even the enemy. Defense Forces frequented the restaurant, not out of any favoritism but because most of the other civilians had long since left the city or gone into hiding and that included those in food preparation. Goten was given to understand that Ewa and Pitra ran one of seven remaining places that prepared and served food, much less drink. Some days, as they sat in silence and attempted to avoid discovery, Goten could read his friend from across the small quarters they shared. Trunks was clearly conflicted about their silence and about not stepping in whenever things got loud or tense downstairs, which they seemed to during each of the four meal periods in a Saiyan's day.

The worst was at night, when the Earthlings were attempting to sleep but could hear people screaming and roaring at each other down below. How many times a day they heard someone accuse (however correctly) Ewa and Pitra of working with the rebels, Goten stopped counting. It seemed that every guard or soldier and his or her brother had an opinion on the best way to handle the rapidly escalating rebellion and none of them were very positive. Goten came to learn that Saiyan expletives were neither inventive nor particularly subtle. Though, perhaps that unkind thought was a result of being woken in the middle of the night by a loud crash and a man screaming, "GET HIM IN THE FUCK-BOX!" This unkind imagery aside, Ewa and Pitra reported very little meaningful damage or mess to clean up and often allowed Goten and Trunks to assist without asking motivation or offering explanation when one of them knelt to scrub blood from the wooden floor.

As the days began to pass, Goten found himself worrying less about the battles in the world outside and more about what might happen if those tails kept firmly wrapped around their benefactors' waists were to ever be discovered as a fake. Goten had come to gather that a tailless Saiyan was sneered at by, it seemed, everyone but Oshar. If gossip began to get around, if questions began to ask, how long would it take before their true identities were outed? More to the point, though Goten felt bad for thinking it, if Ewa and Pitra were discovered there would be little doubt that he and Trunks would have to run or risk discovery too. He was not entirely afraid of a small group of people finding them. What he was afraid of, however, was violating Oshar's begrudging trust that they would not effect the political landscape. On their sixth night on Planet Vegeta, Goten and Trunks were in a rare moment of discussion as sleep encroached upon their day.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can stand sitting around and doing nothing. Every day they come in here, break something, threaten Pitra or Ewa and eat without paying and they're already feeding us." Goten understood Trunks's feelings. One could only hear a cry of pain from a friend so many times before the urge to assist that friend began to leave one mighty nettled. "I've been opening the window at night, sometimes. Sometimes I can hear things. Most of it sounds like fighting, a lot of screaming, a lot of explosions and so many blasters, it sounds like thunder." Goten nodded but he did not confess that when Trunks thought he was asleep, he too lay awake listening to the faint sounds of war in the distance (or sometimes not so faint and not so distant.) This was mostly because of his motivation, a simple growing worry for Trunks who, whatever else may have happened recently, was not back to normal, was not behaving very much like himself.

"We promised, though," Goten said, "and besides, what are we going to do? Go try to get into the middle of a fight we know nothing about?"

"We were taught how to fight by Saiyan warriors!" The hissing whisper was the equivalent of a yell from this new, in-hiding Trunks who still sometimes spoke as his father did. "We helped save our planet when we were still being trained by Master Roshi. We are Super Saiyans, probably the two most powerful people on this planet!"

"Do you know how to fight as part of an army?" Goten asked. "I don't. No one ever taught me how to, not Gohan, not dad, not Roshi and definitely not your dad." Though his voice was calm, his words seemed to irritated Trunks, who stood from the mat he slept on and walked over to the covered window. "Look what happened when we first got here, did we help _anyone?_ "

"Iskar wanted to destroy that building and it's gone isn't it?" Goten rose too this time, though he did so as carefully as he chose his response.

"How many people do you think got hurt?" Trunks's face showed that despite his rash behavior, this thought had clearly already occurred to him. "Not even the bad guys, either. Just people who were out there. Between Oshar and them being scared of you, almost everyone got out of the way of the falling but what about those who didn't? What about the people who got hit by pieces of debris. Some of these people aren't much stronger than any person back on Earth. Not all of them are soldiers, not all of them are trained in using their Ki and have no way to protect themselves. How many people do you think got hurt because you blew up that building."

"Are you saying it was my fault?" This time Trunks did not attempt to restrain his anger and Goten did not immediately answer as he waited to hear whether the noise downstairs changed or not. The boisterous crowd below didn't seem to notice a thing but if ever there was a discussion that could drive Trunks to giving away their position in his anger, it would probably be this one. "Are you?" He felt the lump in his own throat when he answered.

"Yes," Goten said. "You lost your head and blew up a building because you were mad. People were probably hurt, some could have died. Don't you wonder why Oshar didn't tell us anything about it?" Goten had not seen Trunks cry since they were still very young but he recognized the signs of grief on his friend's face even in the poor light from the one candle in the room. His first reaction was to try to soften the blow or even try to comfort Trunks but Goten suppressed it immediately. This was the harsh truth that might save Trunks's life. "We're not soldiers, we'll just get in the way and get hurt. Or worse, we'll hurt other people. If you see one big bad guy you think we have to fight, point him out to me and I'll go with you. This isn't a fight, this isn't something we've ever seen before."

They stood close together in the dim light and Goten knew that this meant something more to him than it did to Trunks, a realization that cause no small amount of guilt. Still, after several second of silence he reached out and rested his hand on one of his friend's tense shoulders, only to feel it shaking. He did not look at Trunks's face, allowing the man some privacy as he instead stared down at the floor, in some contemplation. That physical connection, simple as it was, provided a level of comfort to Goten that he could not put into words even if the intent was to do such for Trunks. Not wanting to wound his pride, after a short passage of time he withdrew his hand but stayed close by, standing a silent guard to his friend's grief. The aforementioned guilt was emboldened by the knowledge that the building's destruction was in reaction to a perceived threat to Goten, all because he had not been paying close enough attention and allowed himself to be distracted by fear.

After enough time had passed that Goten no longer feared anyone downstairs heard Trunks's outburst he returned to his mat and sat down. It took several more minutes for Trunks to do the same and though he did not lay down for a while after, neither did he speak. Goten wasn't inclined to push conversation on someone who had a history of hostility when he felt backed into a corner even though he was sure he could handle anything Trunks wanted to throw at him. It would almost be welcome to hear Trunks blame him for it all, as he too shared some complicity in the destruction of the Defense Force barracks through his inattention.

Neither of them opened the window and listened to the sprawling, burning city that night. While Goten continued to sit up as minutes turned to an hour, Trunks eventually fell asleep. After being alone with his own thoughts for some time, a noise from elsewhere in the room drew Goten's attention: a clearing of the throat. Oshar sat in the corner, (though Goten supposed that in a circular room there was no actual corner) and by all signs he had been for quite a while. Goten could not recall the sound of the door opening nor imagine how Oshar got by the number of people below. The man raised his right hand into the air, fingers stiffly out at an angle from the hand, a gesture which Goten had come to learn was more or less the equivalent of shushing someone.

"Now that I know you both understand what is happening here, there is something you need to see." Goten did not immediately ask about what he was to be shown. He had other, more pressing questions.

"Were you here for that whole conversation?"

"Of course I was. I have watched you and your friend many times." That should have been more surprising to him.

"How?"

"Perhaps that is a mystery best left for another evening, Son Goten. Tonight I'm going to show you what you have never seen before. Tonight I'm going to show you war." As Goten started to rise, eyes straying to Trunks, Oshar's quiet voice dropped in tone. "Just you. Not him. Come with me and I can walk us through the weapons of our foes unseen and unharmed."

Only after deciding to trust this man beyond levels that he should have considered reasonable did Goten rise from his mat and allow Oshar to lead him from the room and downstairs. The minute he felt Oshar's hand on his shoulder, the man's ki passed around his body. It was a truly outstanding display of strength in its own way. Oshar's inner energy reserves had to be deeper than any Saiyan on Vegeta. The ki quite literally made his skin tingle but it did not hurt him. It was almost as if it moved beside him but did not cross the barrier that was his skin. Heart hammering loudly in his chest, Goten followed Oshar's lead and stepped into the dining room. It was full as he had never seen it before. Wall to wall, each table was laden down with drink, food and people. Pitra and Ewa were positively running back and forth between the kitchen and various tables, refilling drink, bringing food. The sweat pouring from their bodies made their clothing stick tightly to them.

Not a single person in the bar seemed to care. There was no sign of respect or gratitude before they ate, there were no thanks given and whenever someone's glass or plate was empty the entire table began to grumble threats beneath their breath. At least three different men were promising different types of bodily harm if they did not get a drink. Oshar did not give Goten time to observe much more than this and certainly not enough time to talk himself into acting rashly and intervening. With Oshar steering him, the pair walked deftly in and out of their enemies, inadvertently starting more than one argument with a nudge at the wrong time or a glass dislodged from someone's hand. Yet, they did not slow down when they passed through the open doors. In fact, if anything Oshar forced him to speed up until they arrived at a suitably dark enough looking alley to duck into.

"That was," Goten murmured, "incredible. How did you do that?" For the second time that night Oshar chose not to answer the question and instead took immediately to the air. Goten was so surprised it took him a second to follow. Oshar had implied more than once that he could fly but Goten was used by now to seeing the man in conversation, not in action. He kept tight to Oshar's tail (a phrase which carried new significance on Planet Vegeta) and allow Oshar to guide him north to a darker part of the city. Darker, however, did not translate to quieter. The sound of fighting grew ever stronger until, shortly after Goten began to spot the tell-tale flares of a blaster firing, Oshar descended to the roof of an especially tall building.

Goten, whose eyes had not had time to adjust to the light on their brief trip through the dining room, had little trouble making out the battle lines that were clearly formed. Down the block was a small, squat building lit only by the glow from some sort of energy field surrounding it. This, of course, meant that the field backlit the line of people crouching just in front of it behind some sort of physical barrier. Goten saw very little of them beyond their outlines and the flash of blaster fire. Across the street, from a building that looked to be in ruins, fire was being returned though the occasional flare could fire from the darkness around and behind it. From the distance they held it was very hard to make out individual people on either side but Goten had the vague sense that the chaos and darkness around the second building was no accident.

"Four hours ago this fight started. There are five others just like it going on around the city. Thirty people in each group, trying to claim minor strategic victories while close to seven hundred thousand push and pressure the Defense Force's best and brightest against their own barriers, giving their lives to take the city over inch by inch. It didn't take long for this to become trench warfare. Both sides are dug in. Supplies are only getting to the enemy through northern and eastern routes. We control the south, meaning everything has to take the long way around the city and we have more than one group tasked with finding these supply runs and forestalling them by means of barriers and sabotage. We have the numbers for the kind of frontal warfare going on in the northern part of the city but not the technology, not the power. We will not hold out forever. If victory is in our grasp the price may be too great to fathom."

Goten listened and observed the style of combat. Neither side was making some big, daring charge. Every time the attacking force would begin to try to progress in any manner more fire would erupt from the defending, forcing them back into cover. Goten wasn't sure just how long even _this_ fight could last. Goten's understanding of the weapons being used suggested that they could be enhanced or modified with the user's ki, but after their own stores of energy ran out would subsist almost entirely off of it. This produced potent, focused beams of energy and meted out the amount used but even still, people had their physical limits.

"Our men at the front have attempted a forward push, trying to reach the first energy barrier in the Defense Force's territory. It is folly. They will not, they will remain pinned down. There are not enough weapons for our men and they take significant risk in trying to press the issue without them. Our only hope is that people at our smaller targets will not be able to receive reinforcements. In the shell of an old home, our men are simply waiting to see who runs out of the will to fight first. It is all that we may do. They are armed with five blasters and a few knives to defend themselves should the enemy decide to come out from behind their walls. Each time it seems as if they have secured a new position or angle on the armory, fire reconcentrates and forces them back. The cover of darkness is doing very little to help. The Defense Forces' scouters are accurate enough to spot a man from thirty-thousand paces with good lines of sight."

"Why are you telling me this?" Goten asked, his tendency to try to find a reason winning out over his respectful silence.

"Because I want you to understand what may happen to these people or any of those they fight alongside. They are not part of the force attempting to take the palace but they are no less in danger. Whoever's strength falters first will either retreat or die or both. War is bloody but it is also exhausting. Morale can go from a blazing fire to a dying ember when hearts and lives are given and nothing is won." Oshar's frustration was growing. "I know, right now, I could go down there and probably influence the tide of this fight enough to drive the Defense Forces back. That is not my job, but I could do it. Do you know why I am not?" Goten shook his head to indicate that he did not, then realized it was likely too dark for that gesture to be seen.

"No," he admitted. It was actually a good question, why were they standing there watching this stand off like great observers who had no stake in the outcome? The thought disturbed Goten, who realized he was counting himself as one with a purpose to interfere. Yet, besides Oshar and maybe Iskar, did they know any Saiyans on the planet? No.

"Because I chose today to bring you here instead, to show you this and to ask if you will help me end this war before my people, our people are too torn apart by battle to ever come back together again." Goten sat in silence. Was this the moment where Oshar asked he and Trunks to do something reckless like try to blow a hole in the enemy defenses or distract someone, or worse, kill someone? Goten had been holding onto the worry that this was coming since the half-Saiyans decided to remain in Lure. "But it involves your friend Trunks and I get the feeling that he is unwell. I have only ever known him as he is now. You speak of him as heroic, nearly romanticize him. Whatever the truth may be, you have known another side of him. I need to know who he really is. I need to know the true measure of Prince Trunks." Goten turned to the vaguely defined outline of the rebel leader and squinted, trying to make out the fine lines of his face. "The Steward of the throne has launched ships. Three are leaving to find Prince Vegeta and two to find Prince Tarble. They want a successor on the throne. Will they find either of them?"

"I was little when Tarble came to Earth," Goten did not even register the slip of his tongue until much later, until the conversation was done and Oshar's plan rejected, guiltily. "Six or seven. I barely remember him, but I know he wasn't like Vegeta at all. Polite, intelligent, in love with his wife and," Goten felt bad saying it, "weak." Hearing Vegeta's words in his mouth left a poor taste behind. "I think he's still living where their father sent him. So I guess they'll find him. I don't know about Vegeta. Our parents won't tell us much about how he came to live on our planet and almost nothing about how Frieza died except that he died." Goten felt himself shiver slightly. These clothes Ewa and Pitra provided them were not built for warmth, but his gi was ruined beyond all chance of salvaging. He tried to tell himself this was he shook.

"Very well, Son Goten. Tell me about your Trunks and I will tell you about my plan."

Goten spoke as bluntly as he could even though much of it was hard to talk about. At an excessively young age, he and Trunks had learned a combat technique that allowed them to pool their resources inside of one body. That didn't just mean ki, it meant knowledge and consciousness as well. Goten and Trunks, as children, had become one person many times in a short amount of time. The connection this left behind was undeniable and left them well suited to friendship. Goten knew that Trunks had a good heart and enough willpower to cow his father but because he could show genuine care for people (something that Vegeta seemed to manage grudgingly during moments of extreme danger) his father's crass attitude forced him to turn to comedy and combat to maintain a relationship with the man. Goten told Oshar all of this and more as plainly as possible, admitting that more than a few of his observations could be skewed. Though he never entirely feared Vegeta, Goten remained far from his biggest fan.

By the time Oshar allowed Goten to leave his side, the restaurant was closed down for the night and Goten was able to walk in without any notable opposition. Of course, it took several minutes of knocking to wake Ewa, who let him in without asking questions. Their conversation was brief, he could see her exhaustion clearly and he supposed she could sense his discomfort. Throughout the entire conversation with Oshar, Goten had listened and watched and observed, at least audibly, what sounded like three deaths. This was not child's play, this was a struggle in which people gave their lives. Feeling upset,he eased the door to his shared quarters with Trunks closed and found no sign that his friend had woken in his absence. Goten lay himself quietly on the thin padded mat, blanket wrapping around his still-clothed form as he squeezed his eyes shut.

There were many things Goten could call Trunks. Healthy was not one of them, not right now. Even still, he felt as if there was a great betrayal at play here, as if he and Oshar were conspirators working behind Trunks's back. For what? Goten's eventual decision to absolutely shut the idea down did not strike him as appreciated by Oshar but, as he insisted time and time again, Oshar's plan hinged on Trunks being well enough and knowledgeable enough to play his part. Even with Oshar's lesson that evening, Goten did not think he knew enough to take any sort of active responsibility, himself. To ask it of Trunks was one thing: Trunks would likely agree. To expect it to go well was another matter entirely. _I'm not going to be the one who makes him get involved in this. If Oshar says I have to be then he's going to be waiting a long time._

Goten turned over and stared into Trunks's sleeping face. Upset as he was, Goten found no pleasure in the act, no comfort at the sight. Instead he simply heard the sounds of the no-doubt ongoing battle at the armory in his mind: voices screaming obscenities, the constant drone of blaster fire, the occasional explosion from some device or a ki-blast and worst of all the sound of a man's cry of pain cut short as he died. Shivering, Goten longed for anyone to reach out to as he had not since he was a child. Father, mother, brother, even his sister-in-law would be enough familiarity to give him the peace of mind to sleep. Their faces filled his thoughts that evening, imagined conversations with each condemning his part in the start of this war, his pride, his decision to keep secrets from Trunks with equal parts frankness and disappointment.

Goten did not believe Trunks slept soundly that night but he felt a little envy as he could not sleep at all.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable content is the property of Toei Animation, Toriyama, etc, etc. This is a profitless venture, simply artistic in nature, I claim no ownership nor property of anything within and seek no material gains. Not mine.

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

Trunks and Goten were maintaining their usual during-business-hours silence when the sleek screen began to ease out of the floor on the far side of the room accompanied by the soft whir of machinery. Neither of them sat up from their mats at first because neither of them were sure if the noise was going to be enough to be noticed from below. After so much time in relative silence and technological ambivalence the appearance of the screen almost set Goten on edge. However, it became immediately evident that they were not the only ones who noticed something strange. The usual ruckus downstairs grew quieter and quieter, until the screen flared to life, drawing absolute silence from the restaurant below. The image in front of him was disturbing. The Saiyan on screen was so young that it was hard to make a guess as to their gender and this would not be upsetting were it not for the missing arm, wrapped in a bloodied bandage. A lump formed in Goten's throat: this could not be good.

" **Is this the face of the enemy? The rebellious faction in the city of Lure seem to think so.** " The voice was unfamiliar to Goten, but he recognized the owner's face from a picture shown to him when the man speaking came into view, kneeling beside the child, who was sat on a raised platform, obviously in discomfort. " **This is young Veera. Veera, can you tell us who it was who did this to you?** " Distress played across the child's face and she chose to hide it by lowering her head instead of answering until the Steward to the throne of Planet Vegeta. " **Please, Veera? It is important that everyone knows.** " The child raised her reddened face, tears in her eyes and, though it was strangled, managed to speak. Goten didn't look at it for long, the slightly disconcerting sight of her attempting to rub away a tear with a hand that no longer existed and growing more frustrated left him feeling wrong.

" **The bad men who are trying to take over the city!** " The screen went dark and silent immediately. Trunks sat up, stiffly but Goten collapsed forward, hands over his face. The transmission was cut off because that was absolutely all they thought they needed to show. No actual information was released, it was simple propaganda. It would work on some and not on others but that was the point. It did not need to convince the entire populace of Planet Vegeta to support the Steward and his forces, it just needed to place doubt. There were plenty of people even on Earth who were emotionally driven enough to buy into this and Goten was coming to feel that the Saiyan race was not so different than Humanity after all. _If I didn't know Oshar and Iskar, if I didn't know Vegeta would I actually fall for this?_

"Why would they hurt a little kid?" Goten's head whipped around suddenly enough to make his neck pop. _Of course, he's still not thinking. He's not really here. He's still back home angry at Vegeta._ "What?" Trunks looked more than a little concerned and it brought Goten out of his own head. He could feel the glare on his own face, the narrowing eyes and the scowl. Goten closed his eyes and turned his head toward the screen as it began to ease back into a small compartment in the floor of its own volition. He crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Goten, why would they hurt a kid?"

"You've met Iskar and Oshar. Do you actually think either of them would be involved with people who would actually hurt a kid? Fine, Iskar's not really a nice guy but I don't think even he would hesitate to hurt someone who tried to hurt a kid." Goten spelled this out plainly. "It's a lie. Trying to make them look like the good guys." Goten wasn't actually sure where this conviction was coming from. Maybe six of Planet Vegeta's days had passed since they met Oshar and Iskar, since the Defense Forces barracks crumbled to the ground. Still, every single conversation with Oshar told him he was a good person. In a strange way, Oshar reminded Goten of both Vegeta _and_ Goku, though neither of them were quite as bright as Oshar. Then again, the smartest person Goten knew back home was Gohan and he still questioned if Gohan held a candle to him. Either way, the same instincts that guided him through life before held strong.

"How can you be sure?" The worst part was that the question wasn't unfair. That conviction was a gut feeling, entirely emotional. _It's never failed me before._ "Goten?" He wanted to come up with a way to explain it to Trunks beyond just saying 'instinct.' Goten turned his eyes back on his friend and whispered his response, aware that it was lacking.

"I just _am_. I just know it." Almost as soon as he finished saying it, an idea occurred to him. Grinning in some relief he said, "next time we see Oshar, I want to ask him to take us somewhere. I think if you spend some time with him and see who he is you'll get it. I trust him the same way as I trust you, because I have never seen either of you be mean to someone for no reason." _Iskar aside, but then, Iskar's pretty mean too. Especially the way he's always talking about martial arts as 'a gimmick.'_ Goten felt some guilt at not having told Trunks about sneaking out with Oshar but the memory of that night still held some significance and sometimes in the middle of the day, no matter what he was doing, he would hear that man's dying scream in his mind, making him stop and shiver. Goten didn't necessarily want to give Trunks something like that to remember but if Trunks heard Oshar's take on a battle he would understand that the man was not evil. There was no way Oshar would allow something as bad as what the Steward was showing to happen.

Goten's blanket felt a little more comfortable after Trunks grudgingly agreed to his request. He wanted to continue to talk to Trunks but they kept conversation to a minimum even during the restaurant's noisiest hours. They were in hiding, after all. That was the deal: they could stay and keep an eye on the war as long as neither of them did anything stupid to get captured. Instead, he rolled over to look at Trunks, only to find his friend already watching him. The silence grew less restrictive and more comforting in that moment so that the smile returned to Goten's face with a vengeance, earning a slightly bemused look from his friend. "Trunks?"

"Yeah?" Worry crossed the tech-mogul heir's face and he propped himself up on one elbow against his mat, waiting.

"I'm glad you brought me with you." The honesty of the statement surprised Goten himself.

As it happened, Oshar paid them a visit the next morning, waking them personally before the sun rose. Whether it was in direct response to the transmission (which, he reported, had done little more than anger the rebels) or not, Goten wasn't sure and didn't ask. Goten did watch Trunks and his obvious discomfort at first as the pair of them stumbled downstairs into the restaurant proper to straddle barstools. Given the limited supply of food, Goten and Trunks had taken to eating twice a day. This left them with very little energy which could have been a problem if they weren't spending every waking second in near-silence in a small single room (a fact which Trunks was beginning to bemoan with more frequency.) In their tattered sleep-wear, Goten and Trunks sat down opposite of the General in charge of Lure's rebel forces.

"I was thinking," Goten said, his voice low as they waited for Ewa or Pitra to bring out food or drink. "Like you took me a couple of days ago, I think Trunks should come with us to see what's happening out there tonight." Oshar's head inclined, eyes trying to read Goten's face from across the table. Trunks's surprise was muted by what Goten plainly read as frustration. He tried to tell himself there was not a look of betrayal in those ocean-blue eyes but there was probably cause for it. Feeling guilty, he turned back to Oshar to see that the man was now watching Trunks. Oshar's odd habit of not always looking at the person he was talking to did make it harder for him to seem endearing. "Well, what do you think?"

"I think that we're making a serious, more focused push to lower the first barrier around the Northern district and if you want to see what our men are doing, that will be the best way." Oshar's voice was tense and taunting at the same time. Goten wondered if he could not guess at what prompted this request. He only hoped it didn't upset the man. Whatever their future on Planet Vegeta, Oshar was going to likely end up a part of it. If, however, Oshar's back-up plan ever seemed like an option ( _It will have to be the only option,_ Goten thought for perhaps the tenth time) then the man would be instrumental in their future. Well, at lest in Trunks's and Goten was not likely to leave his side. Not without being taken kicking and screaming and leveling everything in sight.

Trunks seemed to relax after the food came out, allowing Goten to stop worrying too. Part of the reason was probably the glasses of thick, dark beer the trio drew from while they waited. Goten was coming to assume that Saiyans drank very little else but even he was coming to get used to it. By the time the food reached the table and they were joined by Pitra for breakfast, a content warmth hummed in his bones and he felt more than a little light-headed. The two of them were the first to tear into large legs of meat whose source they still hadn't identified. The now-familiar (and not dissimilar to beef) taste washed across Goten's tongue and the slowly building roar of his stomach quieted in anticipation of being sated. It was hard to imagine that nearly a week ago he was shaky and disoriented from hunger, stumbling down the streets of Lure burning his reserves to stay standing and not suffocate.

Admittedly, the city of Lure was still a mystery to them, their world consisted of their small shared quarters and this dining room in the early morning hours before anyone came knocking. From what he was given to understand only the combatants and a few brave shop owners remained in the city. Very little in the way of economy existed and the civilians who were sticking around were finding a high price in the way of getting anything from food to cloth. Goten almost hoped Oshar forgot his promise and did not come back for them during the night, did not lead them through the streets or skies of this foreign city. The more and more he thought about it, though, the more he was convinced that Trunks was both ready to and needed to see Oshar as Goten now did, a military commander, a general in the middle of a war and not just the man of questionable intent that helped them find a place to hide and food to keep their bellies full after sitting in a shelter for a few hours asking Trunks probing and sometimes insulting questions.

Before they returned to their near-silence and hiding the half-Saiyans dragged enough food and drink upstairs to keep them tided over. Goten looked forward to spending the next couple of hours in a hazy, warm stupor from the beer, rather than the constant irritation of not risking a trip across the room for anything. Even their hasty whispered conversations were a risk when the restaurant was quiet. He and Trunks did what they were now accustomed to: during the riskiest part of the day they slept in shifts. Having briefly considered, tried and failed to attain a meditative state, Goten was firmly over both the concept and pursuit. Sleep, at least, meant he was more awake during the hours he could talk and move about. They were woken early that particular night and shown a sight that changed everything.

This time there was no cautious distance from the scene to maintain either security or secrecy. Dressed in armor Oshar provided and flanked on either side by he or Iskar, Goten and Trunks crossed through a poorly constructed gate firmly into the rebel camp. More than one eye was drawn to either of them but almost every one of those looked away quickly when they realized Trunks was staring back. Goten read the nerves and tension in every step, every action in the vicinity. Was it simply the combat or was it about Trunks, who had made a very public spectacle of himself days ago when he brought the barracks crashing to the street. On the rare occasions that a man or woman approached them, they were waved off by Oshar, his head held high and eyes firmly fixed ahead. This was the kind of power that could not be measured in numbers, this was respect and control and Goten found Oshar wielded it the same way he and Trunks did their own power: confidently, carefully and comfortably.

Though they remained silent for the entire trip at Oshar's urging, they were in a loud and busy camp. Orders were being hurled from one end to another, crates full of food, armor, drink and weaponry were hauled around in numbers that made Goten wonder if the rebels hadn't won more battles than Oshar let on. Trunks was watching everything around them, but Goten did not feel comfortable asking what he was thinking. Finally, after what felt like an hour they approached another barricade made of stone, wood and scrap metal. Oshar did not gesture, he simply stepped out in front of them and gave a wordless, forceful grunt to the men standing on either side of the gate who jumped into motion immediately.

Beyond confines of the camp much of the city was in ruins. The occasional fires in the rubble might have appeared random but they were all placed almost equidistantly from each other. Goten wondered if they were maintained by the rebels. _Are they for light or some kind of signal?_ Goten did not ask. He stepped close to Trunks, who responded with a half-smile that was not at home on that normally confident face. The night continued to darken, leaving the flames as the most potent source of light to show that the street was relatively clear, at least for several minutes. Goten was ready to break the silence when the noise began to reach their ears. It was not much longer before he and Trunks caught their first glimpse of what lit the northern sky each evening.

Hundreds of firm poles stood buried in rubble and shrapnel and dirt, stretching either direction down one street that Goten would guess passed through most of the city. Attached to each of these, immense floodlights bore the kind of light that made night day down on the backs of a host of Saiyans that stood in numbers which left Goten near speechless. Instinctively, he began to rise into the air to try to get a look at how many people were spread out in front of him. Oshar seized him hard by the legs and with a great grunt of effort pulled him back down to the ground. The man did not correct him verbally but the disdain in Iskar's eyes was all Goten needed to feel a wave of shame and embarrassment wash over him. Of course staying low was the smart thing to do, there was no telling what kind of weaponry the enemy had or what kind of abilities. Goten was not used to thinking in terms of equipment.

"How many?" Trunks asked. "How many of you?"

"Today we've thrown almost everything at them. Nine-hundred thousand strong. There may be ten or twenty thousand soldiers loyal to King Vegeta's regime in there, behind those barriers, in trenches, in watch towers, lining barricades and firing back at our front lines as we try to grab inches in the struggle for territory. Our men die for _inches_ Trunks. In a very short time a signal will be given and we will take the ultimate risk to our city and to our people. Our frontline will use a technique which simulates a full moon and they will transform. This is a serious risk." Goten exhaled a breath he did not know he was holding in. "If any that transform lose control they could crush their own comrades, if any other soldier is not wearing his blinders nearby, he could transform. If the ball of light escapes the control of the man who forms it, then the enemy could transform. Do you understand the danger that this could bring? A Saiyan who transforms in this manner is often jailed for a very long time. It has not been authorized since the fight against..." Oshar chuckled, "well, since the last time I attempted to take the palace."

"It's a distraction," Iskar muttered, cutting across his brother's reminiscing. "The Oozaru assault isn't supposed to win the battle. It might have enough force to bring down the first barrier anyway, but once it happens things will go to hell. There will be no guarantees we will be able to stay organized." The explanation was cut short as Iskar looked past both Goten and Trunks to his elder brother. "It's time. Let's go." The brothers reached into their pockets and in an act that smacked of uncouth choreography, pulled what might have simply been a pair of strangely stylized sunglasses and placed them on their faces.

"Up," Oshar commanded. Turning to capture sight of the determination on Trunks's face was all Goten needed. Whatever was about to happen, Trunks understood that these people were not beating up children. They were organized and focused on a goal, taking over the palace. The Earthling Saiyans turned their eyes skyward and followed Oshar and Iskar in a rapid ascent. When the pair leveled out above them, Goten shot ahead of Trunks, leading him not exactly where the brothers were but several feet above. Pulling to a stop, he hovered in the air, ki radiating slowly and precisely from his body to hold him aloft as he finally took in the sheer size of the moment. The energy barrier was a speck of light in the distance. Even lit by the massive floodlights, the crowd in front of them showed as a mass of black against Planet Vegeta, a single mass like some sort of lichen pushing slowly upward against the bark of an old, gnarled tree. Goten figured that was also the speed with which this crowd progressed.

Individuals were indistinguishable, it was a single body of hundreds of thousands and the true weight of it hit Goten: they were an occupying force. Oshar and Iskar lead them around the edge of the lines, perpendicular to the battle field. While they flew Goten and Trunks continued to survey the mass of people below them. There was no telling where one group began and one ended from up where they were. How much of the city must this one fight be enrapturing in hell? How much of the city was dust so that the battlefield could stand with such formations, how much was flattened? The range at which people could actually shoot at each other was so low that the vast majority of the crowd in front of them was not firing. They simply could not. It made no sense to have them there, unless you intended to lose a great number of men, or, of course, this was a distraction. They heard the loud, deep shrieks all at once and, squinting, Goten could make out several shapes that were larger than the rest and they were charging forward. In the distance a massive explosion of ki erupted in front of the transformed Saiyans, though whether they were the source or the targets, Goten did not think he could possibly tell.

Eventually they left that battlefield behind them, though the sounds of a fresh and vicious round of combat were inescapable, even when they landed beside an empty building not too far from the western side of the energy barrier Oshar had told them about. The pale green glow was visible even from where they sat in silence and observed it. Streaks of darkness shot across it, from time to time. _Sentries on patrol around it or men being called to the other wall?_ Goten managed to finish the thought before it became evident that his earlier supposition that the building beside them was empty was completely wrong. Trunks was the first of the pair of them ready and in position for a fight when the three Saiyans came stepping quietly from the darkened doorway, one hauling a pack that looked to be made of canvas on his back.

"Iskar, you lead." It was Oshar who spoke and Goten was readying himself to follow Iskar into a fight with these men before he realized the younger brother was reaching out to receive the pack from the approaching Saiyans who were dressed not in armor but in street clothing. Goten might assume they were particularly brave (or suicidal) civilians if not for the weapons at their waists. Iskar briefly shouldered the bag like a pack and then turned to look not at Oshar or Goten but at Trunks.

"Pay attention, boy," Iskar barked. "There's more to a fight than punches and kicks, beams and showy attacks. Fight like a savage and you will one day die like one. It's a lesson your people have had to learn through watching those they love buried in nameless mass graves." Goten couldn't quite remember hearing Iskar speak so long. No, that wasn't true, exactly. He couldn't remember hearing Iskar have anything of any value to say before. Not compared with anyone else Goten knew. Until then he would have welcomed a conversation with Vegeta over Iskar and now the brunette was showing himself in a different light. Not just bluster, a lesson, whatever it may mean. "You could stand to watch too," Iskar added, catching Goten's gaze on him. "You think too much. If you rely too much on words you might find yourself in a pool of your own blood with peace on your lips." This strange proclamation was equal parts insulting and descriptive.

Goten did not care for it. It was a relief to watch the four rebels vanish into the mangled corpse of what must have once been an impressive, technologically advanced city grander than most on Earth. Less of a relief was Oshar's silent gesture to walk what might have been a minute or two later. During the walk as the silence before he and Trunks exchanged looks in the dim light put out by what little remained of this part of the city's infrastructure (pole-mounted lights lay or leaned at odd angles alongside the road they walked parallel to. In those looks, they held a conversation that Oshar, leading them onward, could not have guessed at in the daylight. Goten understood that Trunks shared the sense of discontent growing in his mind from the way his hands clenched and unclenched of their own volition and in Goten's stride Trunks read the conflict between fear and curiosity that drove him forward at a quicker walking pace than strictly normal.

Not that Oshar noticed: he was not walking, he was practically jogging. It was almost enough o convince Goten that the man was excited. What was the goal that was so important they would risk something as dangerous as this? Oshar was certainly taking any number of risks this evening: Goten and Trunks were out and roaming the city in relative freedom, Oshar and Iskar had just finished escorting them through a crowded camp, where everyone seemed to remember pretty clearly who it was that brought the Defense Forces' barracks down and now he was ordering soldiers to transform even though he admitted the risk of them losing control could be enough to endanger the city. Explosions and blasters were clear as day even from such a distance, so they could probably speak freely. Goten was going to take advantage of this, but Trunks beat him to it.

"What are Iskar and the others doing?" They crossed stone and dirt and rubble to continue forward, in roughly the same direction the others had. Like them, Oshar stayed grounded and so, too did Trunks and Goten. No answer was immediately forthcoming but while considering this, Goten did come to the conclusion that they were trying to stay hidden. Trunks didn't repeat his question though his furrowed eyebrows did let Goten know he was unpleased at being ignored. As time passed and they grew nearer and nearer to the energy barrier, Oshar slowed more and more. His path, which they took great care to mimic, involved being pressed against the side of a building or passing behind and along trees. Finally, by the time they came to a rest in the shadow of a structure no more special than any of the others, Goten could see things in greater detail.

As close as they were it was impossible to see the other end of the western wall of the barrier, but Goten could see the metallic pylon sticking from the ground at the very corner, generating or at least shaping the energy the wall was made of. Backlit by the wall, thirty or forty men and women seemed to be patrolling the outside of it, behind cover not all that dissimilar to the rubble ringing the edge of the rebel camp. What was immediately obvious was that thirty or forty people were not enough to cover the length of the wall. There were long stretches where Goten could see no one at all watching and... he almost laughed when he realized it. These roving sentries were going to always leave something exposed at one point or another. Whatever their plan, all Iskar and his friends had to do was wait. This close, he didn't risk saying anything but he did find his hand eagerly gripping Trunks's shirt sleeve and pointing as soon as he saw them.

Not more than a hundred few feet ahead, four shapes were moving slowly through the most dimly lit parts of the road they were standing alongside. It was not all that dissimilar to their own path to reach where they hid now: the Saiyans stayed low and moved as slowly as if they were wading up a river. If they kept going on this path indefinitely they would, admittedly after some time, run clean into the north-western corner pylon of the wall. The realization was agonizing and the implications staggering. Who was running the opposing military? What kind of a man was Daires the Steward? Did he not realize that he was doing something so stupid that Goten, who had only had any training in strategy under Piccolo could see the impending doom it was going to bring? Trunks seemed oblivious to the cause of another eager tug of his sleeve but a massive grin was splitting across Goten's face.

 _If they do this, they weaken the western wall. They leave a huge gap in it. Pointless because four men aren't going to be able to do anything when the Steward's soldiers realize it's down. But maybe that's how they'll take down part of the north wall. Oshar's army could overrun them in a second. I know I sure wouldn't stay there and shoot if I didn't have safety to fall back to._ The kind of nerves he always felt before a fight made Goten hungry, both metaphorically and literally. His stomach growled but as he licked his lips it was not the phantom of food or drink he tasted on them. It was a victory that he didn't know actually would actually mean anything to him. _They'll rush the north wall. The soldiers won't know why part of it is going down. The people shooting from behind it, providing defense will be exposed. If the transformation is as powerful as dad says it is, they'll have no chance. Once the back line is down the barricade... well I could blow a hole in it, I bet._

The clarity Goten felt in that moment was headier than either Ewa and Pitra's beer or even watching Iskar and his friends sneak, much as their army moved: inch by inch across the cityscape. Soon, they were simply too far ahead for Goten to keep an eye on anymore. He had to be physically pulled back by both Oshar and Trunks simultaneously when he tried to follow.

"No," Oshar was quiet but his tone was not one to be disobeyed. "We will wait and watch from here."

"We'll never see them get to the corner from here. There are too many buildings in the way." Trunks's thoughts mirrored his own but he was clearly not chomping at the bits to watch the results. Did Trunks not understand what was happening or did his friend understand something Goten didn't?

"The point is not to watch the explosion that brings the emitter down, it's to see the moment the outer ring falls and observe what the men and women protecting it and being protected by it do. If they try to stay and fight without safety to fall back to, they are going to slow us down. Maybe it will be long enough to repair the emitter but it isn't likely. We have enough men on the northern line to push them completely to the second wall and take more than a few lives in the process." Oshar lowered his voice, continuing only after a pause in which there was no notable change.

"If they don't bother to try, if they just run for the wall, our men have orders to push and not to stop. They may have technological strength but if they are truly so deluded as to think that is going to save them then they may have forgotten a few things from the global war. They have held off for seven days in this city and that is impressive as more and more of them lay down arms across this planet but their technology cannot defeat a population in revolt." Goten's eyes were drawn away and whatever else Oshar was going to say was drowned out in the sound that accompanied a massive blast of ki hurtling into the sky, a beam too large and too powerful to come from any blaster Goten had ever seen in action. That almost vindictive joy returned anew and Goten waited for the energy barrier to shut down, for the metallic pylon to crumble in front of them.

It did not.

One moment Oshar was running and the next he was flying.

"Trunks," Goten started, turning to face his friend as the ki within his body started to manifest in a pale glow.

"Got it," Trunks agreed, not giving Goten time to finish his thought. The dim city block glowed, awash in the golden light of a pair of Super Saiyans tapping into their inner reserves. His stomach was no longer rumbling, it was burning hot as ki rose from it and fired through his body. Bone and flesh and muscle shifted, rumbled, sending vibrations up through him to his jaw as his ki readied him for combat. His eyes widened as his pupils dilated and the dark, dreary night came into focus. "Go," Trunks called.

As naturally as the first time he had done it (and missing the man who taught it to him) Goten rose into the air and shot like a bullet through the cityscape. He and Trunks drew even with each other, each pushing just the slightest bit faster to force the other to catch up, pushing each other to greater speed. They moved in unison around and over buildings, in and out of the tree lines, even around each other. Goten saw them approach and then pass even Oshar but followed Trunks faithfully, diverting away from the corner pylon and toward one farther south along the wall. When his friend stopped, so did he. It became evident as a beam of light passed between them that they were noticed. A compressed ki blast, blown through one of the blasters of the soldiers below.

Any and all hesitation to attack left his mind as he pictured Veera, the young injured girl used in the Steward's transmission. Goten did not bother to count the number of people below, he simply let loose a stream of golden ki testing the strength of the solid barricades they were ducking behind. Trunks did not. Goten could sense the increase of ki as Trunks took it to the next level, what their fathers called a "Super Saiyan Two." Goten, not cowed by the wave of blaster fire that tried to peg him in the air did the same, taking almost no notice of the discomfort of the transformation this time. It was as if an arm had finally been untied from behind his back and yes, he did feel stronger and braver and even more dangerous but he also retained his control.

"I'll pretend to go for the pole," Trunks called to him before streaking off behind him. Drawing fire from the various enemies aligning themselves in a solid wall in front of the emitter, Trunks came around and began to test the courage of their foes and the strength of the barricades. Vegeta was right about one thing: the average Saiyan was no match for any of them. Trunks's power eclipsed that of the entire group assembled below him and he knew it too, mocking them openly, loudly. Appealing to their pride as Saiyan warriors. Perhaps Trunks accepted that his father's words were false but he still used them. Goten chose his own plan. The barrier rose high into the air, and Goten felt that it would be more than foolish to attempt to fly over it. There was no way to know what was waiting behind it. Trying to attack the enemy from behind was pointless.

He could, however, take the moment to help Oshar who was sprinting madly across the road opposite the barricades. Whenever he neared the form of another Saiyan, foolish enough to step out from behind cover to try to bring him down, Oshar did not bother to shoot them. For all Iskar's bluster about technology, Oshar relied openly on his hands. Goten was going to take a different route than either of them. He hurtled straight for the barrier, being careful not to hit it as he turned toward the north-western pylon. There, floating above a handful of the enemies not focused on Trunks or Oshar, Goten knew that he had to draw some attention to himself and like Trunks chose to channel Vegeta and take a very obvious route.

The fire pouring across his insides from deep in his gut spun around, shot up and split at his lungs as Goten brought the heels of his hands together and back. Images of his father, brother, of Krillin and Roshi played through his head as the ki rocketed through his veins and across his bones to gather first in his palms and then in front of them, cupped between them like something precious. In a way, it was. As Piccolo often reminded him, ki was a part of him. _I'm going to make you all proud, dad,_ Goten thought as the energy coursing even through his brain began to ease downward, into the gathering attack. A beam from someone's blaster caught him on the shoulder. Alone, it was less than useless. Even the sting was quickly lost among the burn that was his own energy.

" _Kaaaa-"_ Oshar's subtlety was vanishing as he got closer and closer to his goal. An arm reaching out from behind the barricade Oshar had just leaped on top of flew through the air, gun still in its clenched hand and landed uselessly on the ground.

" _Meee-"_ Goten narrowed his eyes and in doing this picked out the forms of thirteen people in the line of this blast, several of them reaching up to try to strike, shoot or grab at Oshar, running along the top of their barricade as if it was a road paved just for him. A massive flare of ki behind him told Goten that Trunks was finished playing games, himself.

" _Haaaa-"_ A blast of ki from Oshar's feet hurtled him into the air and knocked a man behind the barricades on his ass, sending him scrambling backwards without standing. The rebel general's hand was outstretched, beginning to glow faintly.

" _Meeee-"_ Fresh screams of pain sounded behind him, whether meaning to or not, Trunks had struck several someones. Their infinitesimal kis stayed lit, they were alive but down. The barrier shimmered bright green to his left. Goten did not know if that was in reaction to his own ki touching it or something else. Oshar like a top in mid air for a moment before hurling himself back from the pylon, giving Goten an open shot, finally. The fire in his hands screamed to be allowed to immolate and destroy.

" _ **Haaaaaa!** "_ Goten saw the beginnings of a deceptively small but potent blast of ki firing from Oshar's hand before the Kamehameha Wave erupted from his own. Thought reached him, a whispered one from a corner that seemed lonely and forgotten and Goten pulled his hands upward, directing the still emitting beam higher. No soldiers to the throne would die in his blast. Even excited, even burning from a week of pent up nerves and rage, Goten shared his bizarre extended family's distaste for killing. As the gathered energy finished escaping him, Goten felt the familiar whispers of exhaustion trying to push in but simply pushed his ki harder, letting it fill the areas that were emptied by the beam streaking across the night sky of Planet Vegeta.

 _I hope Oshar could tell what I was doing._


End file.
